Incident at Huntingdon Border Crossing
by pastann
Summary: Superheroes, parallel universe travel, kind of a fix-it magical realism set in 2013. Jared, a non-combat superhero, finds out his mentee Madison applied to a combat mission.
1. Jared: Johns Hopkins

John Hopkins. Vestibular Disorders Center, Secure Outpatients, Floor 1.

The tiny observation room is packed with security monitors showing the hallways to the nearest exits. A computer on the counter displays the patient's records and views of the exam room and the secure waiting room from wall- and ceiling-mounted cameras. Jared would rather see people with his own eyes, but the observation room doesn't have a one-way mirror.

The soundproofing between the observation room and the exam room is just about nonexistent: it feels more like an echo chamber that magnifies sound. Jared stays quiet and listens to Doctor Goldin's explanation - the woman is the last patient of his day.

"Superhero Rapunzel is our go-to person in these intractable cases. This may temporarily worsen your symptoms or trigger an episode of vertigo, but you must relax and hold still during the treatment. It will be similar to the Ehler's Danlos maneuver, which-

Jared's head tilts back and the edge of his elbow knocks against the sharp corner of the counter - "Shit!" - it's not rounded like the counters inside the exam room. A quick call to his power and his vestibular nerve cells fire. He stumbles to his feet, letting the chair fall backwards.

"Superhero Rapunzel?" the doctor asks from within the exam room. They must have heard the noise.

"I'm fine," Jared says loudly. The dizziness fades.

He stays standing while Doctor Goldin finishes his explanation. The doctor's hair is a distracting shaped cap under a load of hair gel. Jared clamps down on his usual urge to comment on it. It would be doing the guy a favor if he mentioned it - one day. His elbow buzzes with a sharp, shooting pain. It usually dies down by now.

"Oh, yes," the woman says, then falls silent. It's odd, she'd been more exuberant and outgoing in the video interviews and in the waiting room, chatting with another patient. Jared feels a tug to soothe her nerves, but Doctor Goldin is a pro. Her mother sits next to her, a short, stout woman with steely gray hair and a heavily lined, crumpled face.

The doctor rises to his feet and gestures at the examination table. "Please take a seat." He projects a calm assurance.

The plump woman gets to her feet and stands hesitantly near the exam table.

"Lie down with your feet on the pillow," Doctor Goldin says.

It's enough to get the patient on the exam table. Doctor Goldin's hands guide her into place. The woman clutches the edges of the padded table with her soft, chubby hands.

"I'm going to turn off the lights. This is purely for Superhero Rapunzel's identity protection," Dr. Goldin says.

Taking his cue, Jared pops on his goggles and walks into the exam room, swinging the door shut behind him.

He stands by the patient's head and reaches slowly to avoid startling her and then takes a firm, careful grip on her head. The hair under his hands feel coarse and unhealthy and oily.

Ugh, humans. He'd rather work on the deaf dogs at the shelter.

In a swift movement, Jared sticks his middle fingers in the firm, bumpy cartilage of her ear and closes his eyes. He lifts the woman's head and carefully twists it, homing in on the three directions that her semicircular canals run to feel the drag of liquid over the hairs in the enlarged ampulla at the base of each canal. The liquid in her inner ears is wrong somehow. It has a different feeling, like her body is mounting an immune response and the balance of molecules is off. And it feels ... gummy; way too much sugar in her diet, he thinks. With a tug of his superpower, it's a matter of a moment to restore the malnourished hair cells into ideal condition and germinate new vestibular hair cells. Calling nerve cells to hook up to the hair cell is the tricky part. Jared focuses in.

Loose microscopic debris bumps against the cluster of hairs in the anterior canal. The woman tenses up, pressing her body against the table. Jared sends his awareness to the vestibule of her inner ear and germinates cilia cells on the inner epidermal layer inside her semicircular canal. Long, sticky cilia grow at super-speed and sweep the canal, capturing the microscopic debris and stirring the fluid in her inner ear. - The woman shudders and clenches the exam table - Jared knows the sick feeling of the world having no up or down. She just needs to hold on a little while longer and the worst will be over. You can do it. - As the cilia brushes against the surface of the skin, Jared feels loosely fastened structures that might be rods.

With clean-up of the liquid complete, he shrinks the cilia cells down and lets her body absorb the materials.

The woman kept still and Jared's glad she managed it; he doesn't like it when they squirm and disrupt his concentration. It sets back the treatment and drags it out, making the patient even more miserable. One last check on the call to the nerve cells and he's done.

Jared lets go of her head and pats her on the shoulder once. "I fixed it for now. You'll need to go through vestibular rehab to train your new hair cells once they've connected, and uh, eat healthier, drink more water, and lose some weight. Reduce the chance that stones will dislodge," Jared says bluntly.

Turning partway to Dr. Goldin, Jared says, "There's something wrong with the liquid in her inner ear, it's too gummy, and I felt hyphae, like a fungus penetrated her inner ear." He's pushing it. Dr. Goldin doesn't like Jared to diagnose stuff or use medical terms; it steps on his toes. The doctor'll talk about the medical matters and soften up Jared's words about her weight and lifestyle after Jared leaves.

The woman lets go of the exam table and sits up, waving her hands as she speaks. "Thank you, thank you, Superhero Rapunzel. I feel better, grounded. It's the first time in years." She bursts out crying, but keeps talking. "You are wonderful."

"Thank you." Jared says. He doesn't know what to say, it's nice to be appreci—

The woman heaves a sob. "I read your Q&A on the Vestibular Disorders website and I'm very grateful for everything you've done for our community. You are an outstanding person and a credit to the superhero community."

"Thank you," Jared says.

"I read how you started volunteering while attending Super University and kept helping people, people who can't afford the treatment—" Tears dribble down her face.

"Right," Jared mutters.

"I told my support group I was coming here, all about this program, and how wonderful you are," the woman gasps for breath as she sobs.

"Wonderful, that's amazing," Jared says.

"I'm sure every one of your patients has been grateful for your awakening—."

"Right, thank you," Jared says firmly.

"—And, I know the other people whose lives you have touched are very grateful for your generosity. The only thing I regret is that it took me so long to find out about your work, I've been on disability for five years, I—"

Jared steps in and gives the moist, clammy woman a careful hug. "The amazing person is you. How you've kept on fighting: it's a great inspiration. It's what keeps me going." He pats her on the shoulder again and lets go. Jared's thankful the woman's sobs subside and she stops talking.

Dr. Goldin is right at her side, blindly pressing a tissue into her hand. "Thanks so much for volunteering again," he says into the air, like he does every time that Jared comes to the Clinic. Jared sneaks a tissue from the box and wipes off the front of his sweater, backing away from the woman and the woman's mother, sitting there like a statue.

"Glad to help out, Dr. Goldin. Thanks for having me in your clinic. See you in a couple weeks," Jared says and beats a hasty retreat to the observation room. Everyone would feel better when he's gone and they can turn the lights on.

It's mid-afternoon and the woman is his last patient for the day. He starts and ends his volunteering days early or late to make security a little easier to handle. Back inside the tiny observation room, he texts Gabe.

The good things in his life are his career and volunteer work and maybe mentoring newly awakened supers. It's taken him years to get a career going after his awakening and now it's amazing. He'd built up Rapunzel's reputation and contacted Dr. Frizzell at the Cystic Fibrosis Research Center in Pittsburgh. Jared's sure that the extra cilia cells he could grow in their airways would clear the patients' abnormally thick mucus better. There might be negative effects, but the patients usually died from lung problems; if it bought them some years and the side effects weren't too bad, it might be worth it.

Jared idly watches the security monitors as he bundles up in a thick jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves. His phone buzzes.

Gabe: security ready. Route b


	2. Jared: Baltimore

Baltimore

Jared walks out of the hospital's secure exit and crosses the short distance in the ground floor parking lot to the light on Wolfe Street. The spindly, naked trees lining the sidewalk do nothing to stop the brisk wind.

That last patient's comment about being grateful for his awakening … rankled. Jared's awakening had been … unpleasant shit ... and he didn't appreciate the reminder, even if it was unintentional and buried in genuine gratitude.

Gabe's probably checking out the latest news on Typhoon Haiyan; he likes to keep track of the combat and disaster relief superhero missions. From the start, Jared knew that he'd disappoint Gabe. He'd never intended to remove the protective mind control and join the combat track. Gabe was a decent handler and he hoped that he was a decent superhero, even if what they wanted out of life didn't match. Gabe just took their roles of handler and superhero way too seriously at first. It was only after his daughter was born that he'd loosened up a bit and they'd grown closer. Now Jared's happy to play uncle and backup diaper changer. Strange how things changed.

What's taking him so long?

To keep their cover identities safe, Jared doesn't visit his family in person … that hasn't bothered him as much as he thought it would. And, of course, he wouldn't want to draw attention to his brother, who still works in Texarkana Region and wouldn't give up his practice to go into witness protection. Gabe and Jeannie are pretty much his family now. Come to think of it, not getting laid in years hasn't bothered him as much as he thought it would either. It's more mentally disturbing for his dysfunctional identity cloak to convince his mind that his body is not his body, but that's baggage for a different maudlin rumination session.

Gabe pulls up to the curb in Jared's deep blue 2004 Mini Cooper and gets out. A black woolly hat and scarf covers all but the front edge and top of Gabe's side-parted black hair and tidy, short beard.

"Hey," Jared says.

Gabe makes a disgustingly flirty face and drags out Jared's cover identity's name as he speaks, "Samantha, how were the appointments?" There is a downside to Gabe loosening up. The guy never stops saying shit like this. He knows Jared's not a woman under the identity cloak, but the cloak works on him.

"Good," Jared answers as he adjusts the seat for his legs. At 6'4," he often feels that the world of human stuff is sized for shorter people.

"Doctor Goldin was amazing like always. The last patient was really grateful." Jared looks at Gabe. "So, what have you got for me?"

Gabe puts on a super-smug face. "I have Raechelle, your favorite massage therapist booked for a short session—"

"Sweet!" Like Gabe would book anyone else, she's—

"Two of your assigned mentees, Madison and Sumon, are coming for dinner and their weekly check-in, and I have your appointments for tomorrow scheduled. A Mr. Henrickson. Cosmetic baldness. He cancelled with late notice yesterday and asked to reschedule, an emergency at the FBI."

"Squeeze him in, he's a good guy. Any news on the typhoon?" Jared asks politely, to show an interest.

"Good and bad. Command is mobilizing a mission. A supervillain has the Vice-President of the Philippines under mind-control."

"How did that happen?!"

Gabe's grimace is audible in his voice. "Not cleared for mission information."

"Huh." Insane. Glad I didn't go the combat route.

"The advance team for the disaster relief mission, probably they found out. Justice is leading the team and she's—" Gabe draws his hand in the air for emphasis. "—a beautiful woman."

Beautiful has nothing to do with it.

"Right," Jared says shortly. He'd noticed the sexism that pervaded Hollywood; it was hard not to. It rankles now because he has skin in the game. The medical field isn't as bad in absolute terms ... but it's even worse because people's lives are on the line.

They crawl down West 36th Street and Jared backs into a rear-in, angle parking spot in the mini town center. Baltimore's bright gray concrete streets and two- and three-story brick buildings remind him of the wide, open streets of his home town of San Antonio, with less sun and less green and a lot more brick. The city looks old in a picturesque way.

The afternoon is surprisingly bright and cheerful under the overcast sky; the light reflecting off the wet concrete makes the day brilliant. They walk in silence to the bodywork clinic.

Raechelle always asks what he feels like and Jared asks for thai massage; it's easier to avoid stray thoughts when he needs to pay attention to what's going on. She isn't his type, but any woman is starting to look good and Jared wants to avoid an embarrassing moment, even if he trusts her to smooth it over with her charm. Gabe gets on his phone. They have better conversations when it's deep tissue or hot stone massage, but Jared needs the focus.

And she has amazing focus. And a firm, kind, self-assured touch. The mind-warping effects of his identity cloak don't bother her. He has a hard time touching his own body much less looking at it and touching it at the same time. She's hands on with him and never has a problem. He'd never asked her about it. During the session doesn't feel like the right time and after the session he's too mellow to want to break the mood.

Today, the short session leaves him wanting. The warm-up is fast: one circuit on the ropes and fabric and against the wall, and then she has him on half foam-rollers to position him for some twists and hip stretches. The pec and shoulder releases seated and lying down are amazing, but he can't relax into it. The nerve in his arm won't stop burning and forearms rolls make it worse instead of better. She stops rolling his arm, but just tells him to let it rest. At the end of the session, he gets up from final relaxation pose and helps her put the foam rollers and mats away.

When she's half looking away, he asks her. "Why doesn't it bother you, my identity cloak?"

"Oh, sweetie. I look at you, the person you are. Man or woman, or your body type, it doesn't matter to me," Raechelle says.

Huh.

"Thanks," Jared says. Something to think about.

She looks at him. "Come in tomorrow, I'll check your arm."

Gabe jumps in. "I'll schedule it. We can make it early tomorrow morning, And late."

"Yeah, thanks guys," Jared says.

They stop by McCabe's for takeout. Jared would have ordered a martini except that Gabe's standing right next to him and would be concerned, like he would if Jared wanted to drink a soda, or a coffee, or eat a piece of candy - not that he'd pick candy. This calls for liquor. He wants to not care. There's no good time to find out that part of the crazy shit he's gone through comes from his own unconscious sexist or racist associations.


	3. Jared: Yellowwood

Yellowwood.

Their house is on a generous half-circle of wilderness and trees next to the manicured grounds of the Cylburn Arboretum. It would have been some soulless housing development, but instead is a beautiful piece of wilderness bordering a jogging trail.

Jared turns off Springarden to their private driveway. He waits for the gate to open, then drives slowly down the narrow road. It's nice to have as much independence from the rest of the Super Network as he can. Standard super housing for Baltimore is on the harbor and by a freeway: it's noisy and sucks. Gabe agreed with him about that part.

The super-powered, remote-controlled security equipment had gotten him Gabe and McG's approval to live out of standard housing, but it unnerves him each time they pass through the second defense line and the remote weapon stations swivel their guns and gas grenade launchers to point right at him.

Jared pulls up in front of the flat-faced, two-story house. His mentees and Vortex are already there. Madison's in the front yard, if you could call woods with a helipad a yard. And Sumon and Vortex stand on the porch chatting, their breaths puffing out white steam.

Madison whips her arm overhead and a stick flies across the circular concrete helipad and falls with a distant clatter. Her mastiff lab mix Pokeybell races after it with loping strides. Madison's long, curly dark hair skitters over her ridiculously over-sized puffy purple jacket; he needs to take her for a haircut and get her a jacket that fits. The jacket was a gift from her dad, a hand-me-down back from when he lived on the East Coast.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gabe's look and suppresses a surge of annoyance - his blood sugar must be out of balance. Gabe's nagged him more than once about getting a dog. He has good intentions, but Jared doesn't want to get one after Sadie. It hurt too much. He doesn't want to think about it.

Jared stops the car in front of the garage and gets out of the Mini, leaning his arms on top of the roof as Gabe opens the garage.

Sumon and Vortex walk up. They make an odd pair: Sumon's a short, stocky Bangladeshi guy with curly hair tangled in an uncombed mess. Vortex's a tall, skinny, pasty-white skinned super in a bright blue and white spandex costume.

"Good to see y'all," Jared says.

"Hey, good to see you," Sumon calls out.

Vortex had been a fresh-faced, preppy underclassman Jared's last semester at Super U. With Sumon commuting between New York, Baltimore, and Washington D.C., Jared gets to see Vortex more than he ever had in school. The guy has lost his fresh-faced preppiness.

Vortex goes straight for the kill. "Working on your clown car routine?"

Jared smiles. It isn't quite fair to Sumon, who hasn't joined in yet, but ..., "A couple more clowns would help the act."

Vortex looks down at the car. The roof is at the level of his lower ribs. "Let me take it for a spin?"

"No! Absolutely not. Do you know how to drive?" Jared asks with a laugh.

"Don't need to," Vortex answers. "It looks fun, driving fast, onboard theater system, a kid in the back seat. Vroom-vroom!" The guy holds up his long hands like he's holding the wheel of a car and spins it back and forth.

This, from a guy who can teleport.

"Don't watch ads, Vortex. They're made so you want to buy shit," Jared says.

Vortex looks longingly at the car.

"Go on." Jared cocks his head at the car. "Hop in." He steps back to give Vortex space to get inside.

Vortex climbs into the driver's seat, a look of hesitant curiosity on his long, thin face.

"The seat and steering wheel adjust." Jared crouches by the open door and shows Vortex how to adjust them and the mirrors.

Vortex stretches his legs and peers at the gas and brake pedals. He prods them with his feet. They make thumping noises. "Pretty nice in here. It looked a little small from the outside."

Sumon leans his arm against the roof of the car and smiles broadly down at them. When he sees Jared looking up at him, he says, "Oh, it's a very nice car, Sam. You have good taste." Sumon nods and gestures expansively with his free arm. "It's very nice."

The heavy, reinforced door to the garage and emergency bunker slides to a stop with a low boom. The eerie light from the astral warding crystals embedded in the ceiling make the inside of the garage shimmer. Gabe stands at the side of the garage, putting his keycard back in his locked walletcase. The retinal scanner access point is closed and probably locked already; Gabe is amazingly efficient.

"Yeah," Jared smiles. Vortex gets out - it looks funny watching a tall guy climb out of the car - and Jared gets back inside the car to drive it into the garage.

As soon as the food's on the kitchen counter, Vortex inhales half of the beef brisket piled on a slice of Madison's favorite olive bread and says he had to get going. A minion master-mind controller incident is coming up. Psychic supers flagged it this afternoon and it's a scramble, no ID on the supervillain.

Jared walks with Vortex to the helipad while Gabe heads to the garage to suit up and get a canister of suppression gas.

"So you should help Gabe reach the higher spots. You're taller. He's short." Vortex puts his hand out by his thigh, as if he's measuring the height of a small child, much shorter than Gabe's actual, completely average height.

Jared forces a small smile. "Gabe has a lighter hand on the sprayer. I'm … kind of clumsy. You wouldn't like teleporting back here if I used too much."

"Well if Madison's called up, she's gotten briefed-

Wait, wait, what?!

"...so, Angel might pick her up from here. Your helipad is big enough, Angel can land the plane straight down. And … you know, Sumon likes staying over at your place; he tells his niece he's doing top secret superhero stuffs when he visits you." Vortex shakes his head with deliberation. "She doesn't believe his stories anymore, asks him lots of questions and wants to see evidence. Kids these days."

"Called up?" Jared repeats stupidly.

"Yeah. She's got a good chance of getting on the team; the extraction teams always want teleporters or fliers," Vortex says.

Right, because she's signed up for a combat mission without telling him. Outwardly, Jared keeps his face calm. Madison's eighteen and legally an adult, but she's so young and indecisive. She didn't have a superhero codename because she couldn't pick a name that sounded good. She didn't have a cover identity set up before he got on her case. Her family lives in L.A. under their real identities, unprotected except by the general presence of the Super Network in California-Southwest Region and fear of retributions from Gabriel. How could any coordinator consider her for a combat mission where she would be exposed to potential supervillains?

Jared stuffs his hands into the pockets of his thick winter jacket and watches Vortex teleport out. The blue and white-clad superhero stands in the center of the helipad. Cloudy tendrils from the astral sphere circle and whirl around his tall, thin figure. The cloud grows thicker until it covers Vortex completely, then the whole thing sucks into the middle and disappears with an explosive boom. A globular cluster - pinpricks of black nothingness fill the space where the cloud had been.

Jared double checks the seals on Gabe's suit and watches Gabe spray the helipad with suppression gas, just enough to neutralize the astral emissions - in case Vortex needs to teleport back tonight.

He needs the time to cool down before talking to Madison.

Back inside, everyone converges on the kitchen. Jared calls Pokeybell with a slice of beef brisket and watches the dumb, happy guy gobble it down before he trusts himself to speak. "Vortex told me you're on call and might head out tonight."

Madison freezes for a moment, then she starts to talk fast. "Yeah. Tara Larsen's the lead Coordinator. She thinks the new super's a minion master and they'll try to call minions. Field Command narrowed it down to B.C.—"

Wonder how Field Command pinpointed it that—

"—Grace of God is in the Philippines so we won't have to worry about her. It's mostly Dr. Badass and a few supers over the border in Pac Northwest Region. Dr. Badass is a squishy living undercover in Vancouver. He's crazy powerful and controls anything running on electricity-

A super with control over any device running on electricity, a target for minionization. Listen to what you're saying!

"...and there's an undercover agent monitoring Vancouver. Tara says the rogue will head into Washington or Idaho because Pacific Northwest Region is a mess, they're way disorganized." Madison paused for a breath. "Better chance to carve out an independent territory and hold it there. And if Pac Northwest splinters it'll destabilize the Region even further, maybe even balkanize like the Northern Gravity Kingdoms."

Big words and big ideas. The world's a better place after the Super Network took over. Jared imagines her ... fighting-

Madison scowls and crosses her arms. "There's an identified supervillain who murdered thousands of people living in a town across the border in Washington ... for years. It's insane."

Does it sound sane to walk into this situation?

"An old combat super, Containment, might be a target. He's Dr. Teddy Bear's nemesis-

Them.

"...They get in fights and blow up parts of the town every month. I would be so glad to leave if I lived there—" Madison's long, curly hair shivers and she glares at Jared.

There has to be a non-combat use for Madison's superpowers.

Madison uncrosses her arms and determinedly serves salad onto plates. It's way too early to eat dinner.

She sits down at the kitchen table and Gabe, Jared, and Sumon settle at the table around her. "It's a good mission. Field Command is there personally. I'll make a name for myself if I show that I'm reliable and professional," Madison finishes in her soft, young voice. She picks up a fork and stabs determinedly at the leaves.

The childish sound of her voice should make anyone reconsider sending her on a combat mission.

He's her primary mentor; he should care, since clearly no one else does. He'd had to encourage her over and over to apply for Super U, to request tutoring on her weak subjects, get counseling about her awakening and using her superpowers and being away from her family, stuff that's a no brainer. Her grumpy, sarcastic, and cynical Coordinator, Kevin Royce, doesn't suffer fools gladly and hasn't even assigned her a handler.

"What does your handler think about this?" Jared says.

"You know I don't have one!" Madison snaps.

"Yeah, my point exactly."

No one says a word. They sit and eat quietly; the only sound - forks clinking on plates. Gabe's daughter and wife are upstairs. Jared scoops cauliflower and potato curry onto his plate; Sumon's mother or was it his sister, had made it for him. Pokeybell picks up the mood and slinks under Madison's chair. Jared hadn't meant to turn it into an argument; this wasn't about arguing or making a point.

Maybe a neutral perspective.

"What do you think about this, Gabe?" Jared asks.

"Oh. Well," Gabe glances at Madison. "Short-range rapid teleportation is a good combat power. Great for extracting agents and supers if the primary mission goes wrong. If she proves her worth, the Super Network will assign a handler."

"Wait, wait. Why doesn't she have a handler?" Jared asks. He'd thought it was because Royce thought she isn't ready to take on missions.

Madison and Gabe look at each other, both about to speak. Gabe waves his hand at her to go ahead.

"See, they changed the policy, there's way more superheroes now and not enough handlers, so I only get a handler if I need one. Of course, the major powers still get a handler: minion masters and mind-controllers and the people with unique, useful powers, you know." Madison explains, pushing a leaf around her plate and mangling it.

Right. The death and disappearance rate for newly awakened supers is a lot lower now. Come to think of it, Sumon has a minor superset and he and his family made it out of Bangladesh alive and with minimal help from the Network - and mostly diplomatic support from normals. He'd had a few close calls, but eight to ten years ago, Sumon would likely have been minionized or mind-controlled by a rogue, or his family or friends taken hostage to ensure his cooperation. The stories from awakened supers got … tame.

"Extraction is relatively safe," Gabe says. "Newer combat personnel are sent on those. And she'll get a chance to network with the combat supers and handlers … find a team. It's much safer on a team."

Newer agents, yeah. Like his own extraction team eight years ago, who'd gotten twitchy and blasted Sadie when she'd come running to him. Chunks of meat and bone, a red smear splattered over the gravel and Russ' trailer.

Honestly, Madison got on his nerves; she's bright and brash and sharp enough to take care of herself. A few more months of combat training in P.E. and at the mixed martial arts place he'd talked her into joining and he wouldn't have to care. At some point, everyone's on their own in life. It just felt wrong to let her to go on a combat mission … not now. She'd turned eighteen a couple days ago and her whole class celebrated her birthday at Super School, like little kids.

Jared stabs a piece of brisket. "I have concerns. You haven't fully explored the potential of your superpowers. It took me a few years to get a handle on what mine could do and get used to how they work. Everyone's powers are a little different."

"I know that! My superpowers are totally a clear track to the combat route. Short-range, rapid teleportation is epic for close combat and I have a full superset," Madison says. "I'm right in the mid-range of Class II."

She really didn't need to argue her case. He didn't care that much and it wasn't like he would order her to drop off the mission list. That would be crossing the line from mentoring to, to something else. "A weak superset," Jared says.

With a few years practice, the look on her face would be bitchiness personified. She doesn't speak for a while. "So, what would I do to get better ideas about my powers?"

Jared pauses and thinks. "Talk to people. People know a lot, they make connections you might not see. My classmates at Super U were the ones who suggested treating vertigo and hair loss-" the big money-maker, even though it was mostly cosmetic, "...and you can see where that led me." Oddly enough, his brother the doctor hadn't suggested it, but his brother hadn't been in the same place Jared and his classmates were, all figuring things out about their superpowers and their new lives.

Gabe cuts in. "Yes, business is great. It's very helpful to the Super Network. The money pays for resettlement for families, for many other things."

"Causing vertigo is a great nonlethal combat stopper," Jared says evenly.

"Why don't you use it?" Madison asks.

The edge in her voice, judging him for not taking the combat route.

Jared says, "I'll tell you a story. When I was seven, my family and I lived in San Antonio, near the South Texas Nuclear Generating Station. It got held up by Torment, a supervillain who took the plant workers hostage, and threatened to overload the reactor if San Antonio and the state of Texas didn't hand over some local superhero I can't remember the name of. The CIA loaned Containment to the FBI, and Containment went in, blew up the reactor, and killed the supervillain and all of the plant workers. He contained the fallout."

Jared forces his voice to stay level. "There was a radioactive exclusion zone around there for years, before supers from the Network did remediation and flew the radioactive material to the moon. You know, there's a nuclear waste storage—"

"Yeah, I know!" Madison snaps.

"Right," Jared says. "Containment's entire family disappeared. The news reports said the supervillain's team killed them in retaliation."

Jared looks Madison in the eye. "You don't have identity cloak and your cover identity is barely set up. Don't give me that shit about oh it's not as dangerous now, your whole family lives in L.A. outside of witness protection. Containment's ruthless even without being controlled by a supervillain and he's one of the superheroes. Dr. Teddy Bear is a supervillain! Teleportation isn't going to help you if a super like Containment gets minionized and is fast enough and strong enough to kill you before you can teleport out!" Something niggled at him, he couldn't remember what—

"How do you know that was him?" Madison asks querulously, ignoring the identity cloak. "I mean, I read the files for the mission and it doesn't say anything about that. It says Containment has a Class I superset, he can't contain a nuclear explosion or blow up a reactor."

If you think superpowers are necessary to blow up a-

Jared glances at Gabe; Gabe doesn't look like he knows more. "It's either above your clearance, or it's not in Atlantic's files."

You would think Chernobyl would be covered in Super School; Containment was really active back in the Cold War Era, but maybe he wasn't mentioned by name. And records and news reports from back then are unreliable - with people mind-controlled or minionized at the will of the least ethical supers around. "Key people in the CIA and FBI were mind-controlled back then. The records aren't accurate. And the older superheroes hide their powers."

"Yeah, but what's your point," Madison scoffs.

"I'm saying, it's dangerous, and you're going up against dangerous, ruthless supers and a supervillain minion master or mind controller who's not identified. Things don't always come out right. The good guys don't always win! I'd like you to take this more seriously!"

"I'm taking this seriously!" Madison bursts out.

Gabe breaks the tension, "Sumon, pass the curry please? It's delicious, I love your sister's potato curry. It's perfect, the potatoes, they're amazing."

Oh right, Sumon's sister.

"Oh sure. I'll tell her you said that. She loves to hear compliments, especially from the good-looking guys," Sumon says, as he passes the bowl. Jared doesn't know how his wife puts up with Gabe hitting on every woman in sight. The casual chauvinism still rankles.

Gabe and Sumon steer the conversation back to Sumon's classes at Super U; Sumon's struggling with the workload of the labs in his microbiology and organic chemistry classes, but he's on track to apply to Cornell's vet school for the fall, then he had a couple funny stories to tell about volunteering at Smithsonian National Zoological Park and Bronx Zoo. Jared's pretty sure the stories are wildly exaggerated. He wants Madison to hear about Sumon's awakening, but he doesn't think Madison'll believe it coming from Sumon.

After dinner, Jared washes the dishes in the kitchen. When he walks back into the living room, he catches the end of Gabe and Madison's conversation. Clearly, Gabe is sneaking around behind his back and asking Madison not to tell him her big news.

Madison flashes him a bright, triumphant smile and tucks her cell phone in her pocket. "I got called up. An FBI liaison with resistance to mind control is leading the team and Mercury's Quick and Super-screensaver are the other two supers."

Those a-holes Mercury and Super-screensaver? He'd gone on combat training missions with them in Super U and with his identity cloak as a black female, got a taste of their shitty attitudes. And it wasn't an accident that Super-screensaver's codename shortened to SS; he thought Nazi's did the world a favor, got rid of undesirables. The thought of Madison with those two on a mission where she would need them to watch her back—

Before he could think about the words, they spill out of his mouth: "I'm challenging the mission assignment. I'm taking Super-screensaver's place."

Jared doesn't know what he's saying.

Gabe looks startled, which goes down in Jared's book for most rarely seen expression on Gabe's face.

"Ah, Samantha," Gabe starts to say.

"You know it's your dream come true," Jared says with a small smile.

"Samantha…," Gabe makes his eyes wide and liquid. "If I had wanted to, I would have asked for reassignment. We're a good team, together."

As if Jared's going to be manipulated by Gabe's smooth charm. He needs Gabe on his side.

"Come on. Call McG and Coordinator Larsen, would you? Play the 'I'm her mentor card' if you have to. I need to prep my combat costume," Jared says.

"Yes, of course," Gabe says quickly. "You know that I'm always on your side."

"And Madison, your mission info," Jared asks.

"Sure, I took photos of everything." Madison's shining, excited face hardly dims as she takes her phone out of her jacket pocket.

Upstairs in his bedroom, Jared opens the bottom drawer of his bureau and yanks the pleated cotton skirt and striped, tent-like top of his superhero costume over black yoga pants, a V-neck, and a sweater. The derpy plastic poncho with clips of hair samples goes over the top. He'd never put together a winter version of his costume.

Jared opens the walk-in closet connected to the bathroom. His superhero costume's long wig made of human hair from the more common DNA lineages in North America hangs on a wig stand, covered by a clear plastic bag to keep off dust. No time to brush it or prepare properly. He'll call Jeannie for help refreshing the hair cells. He grabs a wig cap from a bag in the back corner of the top shelf, tucks his hair inside the cap, takes the wig stand to the bathroom. Double-sided tape in the bottom drawer, he pulls that out for the hairline and temples, draws the cover off the jumble of mostly dead hair and looks into the bathroom mirror to align the wig. He presses the edges of the wig firmly on the tape.

The person staring at him in the mirror isn't herself: each feature on the face is her own, but her mind is convinced that she looks at a different person, a person she can't quite place, some tall black woman, no one important or memorable. She can't remember her own face even as she stares at herself; she can't see past the cloak.

I don't make for a good looking woman even without the five o'clock shadow.

The variegated hair of the wig jumbles in irregular piles over the striped top. The stripes had been a bad choice aesthetically - they clash with the brown polka dots on the skirt.

Jared straightens the top and skirt. At least looking in the mirror isn't as bad as looking at his own body directly. The mind trip is screwy and, of course, he's always within the active range of his own dysfunctional, screwed up superpowers.

Jared grabs his cover identity's go-kit and wallet - Samantha's international driver's license, credit and debit cards, company ID badge and credit card, her passport. His iPhone goes into a locked case for McG and Samantha's iPhone goes into an inside pocket on his costume top. Years of preparation, his own and McG's paranoia, starting a business for his cover. It's really, finally happening.


	4. Jared: Atlantic's South Headquarters

**Atlantic's South Headquarters**

Jared follows the top of Coordinator Tara Larsen's strawberry blonde head down the monotonous central corridor in Atlantic's south headquarters. _This is surreal; I don't know what I'm doing._

The soles of his scruffy Keds press onto the linoleum floor and pull off the uncompromising surface under his feet.

Who is he kidding? This mission is a trip into insanity: a death sentence that his big mouth got him into and his pride won't let him back down from.

Jared follows Larsen into a large room filled with slanted schoolroom computer stations and lined with ceiling-to-floor monitors. She stops and faces a cell paneled with one-way glass. The clatter of support personnel bustling around the operations room fades. A hot babe is completely naked inside the cell, toweling herself off with her back partly turned the door. Lustrous, dark hair brushed the skin of her back as she reaches for her clothes. Tiny black panties raced up her long, slender legs and—

He tears his eyes from the woman's panties. Coordinator Larsen's innocent, intense face is turned to look up at him.

"Your cover identity is good?" she asks.

 _Pull it together. Not a teenager._

"Yeah, absolutely. We've kept it up-to-date. It's a complete cover." And his cover identity and the company he, Jeannie, and Gabe had painstakingly built was their fall-back if Atlantic abandoned them in Pac Northwest Region.

"I'm glad to hear that. As Rapunzel, we want you to interview for a sidekick position for both Containment and Dr. Badass. It is critical that you can't be traced back to Atlantic."

 _Both of them; it was only Containment before. Job interviews with superpowerful crazy supers who might be minionized or under mind control ... it's going to be a bear._

"Right, we prepped a cover story with a minor change. It'll be obvious - reading between the lines - that Samantha is seeking protection as a sidekick because of sexual harassment by a super in Twin Cities Region and dismissal of her case by Pro Tyle - everyone knows he's an extreme chauvinist on the verge of mandatory personality modification. As CEO of a company operating domestically in the United States, it doesn't make sense for her to hail from one of the Gravity Kingdoms...," and Jared doesn't want the modification necessary to implant Greenlandic and Danish in his head and there's no time to learn it like a normal, "...Twin Cities does not maintain diplomatic contact with Pac Northwest and from B.C. it'll take weeks for clearance. Gabe has a line to one of their admin personnel. She'll hold up the process for a couple weeks. Even if Dr. Badass hacks the files, all he'll find is corroborating evidence. I haven't dropped my identity cloak almost since my awakening and we've laid the groundwork for her backstory. She travels extensively visiting distribution agents in her company. It'll be nearly impossible to break my cover identity," Jared says firmly, suppressing the nervousness racing in his bloodstream.

Tara looked ... impassively cute and blandly pleasant. He can't read her. She could be thinking anything.

"Gabe cleared it with McG. I know that time is critical on this mission and I want mind control at a minimum," Jared says, "Just removal of the power blocks."

Tara stares at the blank black glass of the wall, then she nods once. "That's acceptable to Witness. The mind control program removal will take a minute."

Silence. Jared checks the time on his iPhone: 4:51 pm.

He stares at Tara's profile. He wants to ask for details about the mission, but he's pushed his luck getting on it at all - what with that ass Mercury's Quick pulling out. No reason to bring up any doubts Tara had regarding his complete lack of qualifications for a combat mission.

Come to think of it, if he makes it back, his appointment schedule is going to be a mess for weeks if not months. Coordinator Larsen had ordered them not to inform patients of canceled appointments until tomorrow morning.

 _Maybe dying wouldn't be all bad._

The glass door swings open and the woman walks out. The straight, masculine lines of her heavy brown jacket and dark pants with bulging pockets look good on her body; the contrast of the cut of her SWAT-team clothing make her even more girlishly beautiful. Her thick, metal toolbelt hangs low on her wide, curvy hips and dips below her belly button.

The feel of the soft fuzz on her belly sends heat-

Jared stares at the black flecks on the linoleum floor while he steps past her into the cell. The glass door shuts. At the far end, a small bench is bolted to the floor, a hamper for dirty towels by the right side. In the far left corner, a tall wood cabinet is stacked with fluffy beige and white towels. He snags a towel and mops the sweat off his neck and chest.

He takes off the wig first. The boost to his hair powers is messing with his head. Jeannie'd picked the worst or best place and time to visit her family in Vancouver. At least she'll be on the ground when he gets there. He'd facetimed her and she'd walked him through restoring the hair cells in the wig, but the cell lines are not perfectly restored, or plain dead.

The metal clips on the plastic pouches of hair samples clatter loudly as he sets his costume top on the bench.

A quietly bland, electronic voice speaks, "Please take a seat."

Jared sits on the bench, facing the black glass wall. On the other side of one of the dark panels, a mind-controller - Witness - is going to read his mind and strip away the protection that keeps him and his family off Atlantic's high-risk watch list.

Nothing happens. Jared looks around for an intercom's speaker; he doesn't see anything resembling an intercom.

"Re-

Jared flinches.

"...moval complete," the voice blares. "Take time to become accustomed to your powers, Jared."

He hasn't heard his name in a long time.

"Thanks," Jared says to the air.

The mind-controller has his file and the notes on the mind-control programs installed inside of him eight years ago. It makes sense. The whole thing is unsettling.

Jared gets dressed, picks up the wig and pushes open the glass door.

The dark-haired woman calmly slips a roll of paper into a plastic sleeve on her belt, probably some top secret Support Network agent thing that he doesn't know about.

She is incredibly hot.

She looks up at him intently, as if she sees _him_. For a moment, Jared feels his identity cloak waver, as if it and his female identity are an illusion, and he understands that it's a lie he fools himself into believing because he needs to believe it to make the cloak real. He wonders what she sees. She looks tense.

The room behind her bustles quietly with activity. A slob of a man shambles up from the desk he was sitting behind, a fistful of papers clutched in one large hand. The monitors showed satellite images of a typhoon and the insides of some offices and another command center. From this angle, he sees a moveable whiteboard in the far corner of the room. Someone had written ~6340 in red marker on the upper left and drawn a box around it - maybe an estimate of the number of deaths without superhero intervention. The team in this center must be prepping for disaster relief for Typhoon Haiyan.

The moment stretched uncomfortably long. "It's removed," he says, trying to sound calm, like he takes off mind control programs and goes on dangerous missions all the time. He doesn't know how often three backup teams got called up as support for one mission - but it sounds bad - and he isn't ready for this.

"Rapunzel, this is Ruby, the lead for Team B," Tara says.

 _Oh._

Ruby gives him a wide, deep smile. "Glad to work with you on this case."

The warm, mellow timbre of her voice runs into his body like the bubbles from a sip of soda, buzzing inside his throat and settling low in his belly.

"Oh yeah, me too." Jared forces his face to smile and tries to sound calm and confident. "I'm looking forward to defending Super interests and protecting civilians inter-regionally."

"Right," Ruby glances at Tara Larsen, then starts to walk down the corridor.

Jared trails after Ruby's tiny, briskly-moving body. The top of her head would come up to the middle of his chest.

"How much of the mission information have you reviewed?" Ruby asks.

He blanks for a moment before he remembers. "I glanced over it," Jared says. "Madison showed me her files." He'll review the files thoroughly on the way to Vancouver.

The derpy plastic poncho and the hair samples bounce uncomfortably as he walks. He regrets the lack of thought he'd put into the design of his registered combat costume.

"I understand it was a last minute decision," Ruby says.

"Absolutely, I can't let Madison go alone. She's not ready for a combat mission," Jared says urgently. "I realize the backup teams need a rapid teleporter to pull people out in case the shit hits the fan, but I don't understand why a more experienced combat super couldn't be assigned—

They head down a narrow, spiral flight of stone stairs leading to the shielded chambers below. Jared stops talking to balance on the unevenly cut and hand-smoothed stone steps. The humming roar of bees grows loud enough to drown out human speech. An arched, stone doorway inlaid with fiery opals the size of his fist looms in front of them. The opals flare as they approach, and Jared blinks his eyes shut as they cross the archway. The sound of bees cuts out on the other side.

Without pausing, Ruby strides into the chill of the narrow, irregular labyrinth guarding the earth chambers.

"…to this mission. She's eighteen!"

He'd mentored her since she'd awakened and moved to the East Coast to go to Super School: a young, high-strung teenager. She's as close to his daughter….

Ruby glances back and gives him a sympathetic look. "I understand the concern and your frustration. The psychics detected the incident at short notice and the other ARTs are unavailable. I'm sure she'll be safer with a minion master to counter-

Minion master. Jared hates the label. Awakening had been … hard and he's never used his minion master powers outside of the minimum to get his powers under control.

"...ial power abuse," Ruby says. "I'll give you a rundown of the mission analysis."

She's good for her word

It's reassuring to hear her lay out the mission: a straightforward interception. Psychics predict the super will go rogue and carve out a chunk of the world to rule. Superpowers and and some people's values don't mix well. Team B is running short to mid-term backup to extract or neutralize potential targets of mind control or minionization. Maximum mission time of two years before recall, estimated time in weeks. It sounded … relatively safe … as long as Team A did their jobs perfectly and everything went like predicted by the psychic supers and astral sorcerers.

"How often does it come out like planned?"

Ruby gives him a look and hesitates a split-second before she answers, "Less than a third of the time. But adherence to mission guidelines is critical for astral force mitigation and avoiding negative scenarios."

 _Right. Wouldn't want everyone to die like in those other universes._

The nerve in his arm jangles like his thoughts. Another episode of vertigo … it hadn't felt like he'd drawn too much energy. The labyrinth is lit with widely spaced crystals embedded on either side of the corridor. They glow dimly to life as he approaches. In other circumstances, this would be amazing. Right now, all he can think of is that he needs a checkup with an astral sorcerer. He'll make an appointment with Crystal when he gets back.

It's some ironic karma piece-of-shit. The ruling supers of B.C. who'd tried to kill him when he'd awakened had died fighting Dr. Teddy Bear. Now he's heading back to the area with Dr. Teddy Bear as a potential target, not that he'll be helping Dr. Teddy Bear directly, but his Team will be. The whole situation in B.C. Super Region is … strange.

The dossiers on the five major supers in the area were tampered with … who knows why, and more than one person has to be in on it. Grace of God's major superpower is healing; she doesn't just emanate an unreal light and levitate. CBC gives nightly news report on people she's healed. It's hard to miss that.

And Jared'd seen her with his own eyes. He had his old co-star Russ, the super-fan, to thank for that. The day he got into Vancouver, Russ had taken him to St. Paul's to leave a gift for her at the petitioner's entrance. ...More than one volunteer or intern in the Network or at the Hospital had to have a full-time job sorting through the shit. It would be convenient and less of a security risk if she took credit cards.

And then Containment's file - Madison's right - the file lists his only superpower as a Class I superset. The feel of it reminds him of Jeannie's file: the way her immunity to minionization is covered up against the day she agrees to the dull, thankless, and dangerous work of investigating active minion masters suspected of power abuse. She's stuck by him, kind of a retirement before she got started, but they do compassionate work with their hair powers combined … but she's always kept a certain distance between them, a restraint. It's too bad, because she's beautiful, and easy to talk to, and good to him. She knows him and likes him; they could have had something.

Jared wonders if Ruby knows what's missing from Containment's file. People didn't talk about it, but massive memory modification and mind control programs with supers working with astral sorcerers had been common in the '80s, before Atlantic stopped most types of superpower abuse. Jared remembers the explosion of South Texas Nuclear Generating Station very clearly. His whole family sitting in front of the T.V. and watching the news coverage. His parents' helpless fear. The disgust he felt watching Torment gloat over the Channel 13 news crew he'd taken hostage. Madison had told about this, from her classwork at Super School - he hadn't known, he'd been too young, but Texarkana got their shit together and joined the Network because of that incident. In the end, the Network slapped a no entry Agreement on Containment and pressured the CIA into retiring him from service.

Why hadn't she known Containment's powers?

And of course, Vancouver has to have a sleeper agent so secret, the only thing in the file is the codename: Psy B, and two contact portals they're not authorized to use.

 _Team A had better handle the situation._

Ruby stops in an alcove in front of wide, golden double doors.

Jared smiles helplessly down at her.

The doors to the earth chamber open outwards. An eerie, shimmering light spills into the corridor and makes Jared blink. A few tears trickle out of his eyes. The hexagonal chamber is enclosed in a steel cage with unnaturally shiny bars sunk into the soft, powdery dirt floor. A constellation of dimly lit crystals hang overhead and the rock walls are lined with blurry drawings that Jared's eyes can't focus on.

Over the threshold, the alien wrongness swallows him. He stumbles on a hard lump of earth under the thick layer of fine dirt.

Ruby's firm, strong hands catch him around his hips, her solid body pressed against his back, the side of her cheek and forehead a steady rock, grounding him. Jared shivers. He wants to wrap his arms around her and-

"Thanks," Jared blurts out. _What is it about her?_

Ruby releases him carefully. She peeks out like a tiny, adorable animal, hiding behind him as she looks up.

"How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Good, a little low on energy, nothing I can't handle," Jared says.

"Alright. I can do a quick energy draw before we start. I'll enter synchronization on sphere three?" Ruby says tentatively, as if asking for his approval.

"Right," Jared takes a deep breath. "I'll follow your lead." He wonders how many other supers she's synchronized with … he hasn't synchronized since combat training at Super U.

"We can do this standing," she says, as if she read his mind.

The doubts he had about the mission, about Atlantic, the dissatisfaction with his life ... he imagines a wicker box on the earth beside his feet, and he puts those thoughts inside.

Ruby steps on the powdery earth, lighting small candles.

"I invite you to close your eyes on your exhale breath…," Ruby's word rolled off her lips in a clear, strong voice, a lifeline, that he needs to obey.

Closing his eyes, he exhales. He inhales. A rich smell of chocolate permeates his body. Cocoa butter candles, who would've thunk? A steady energy flows through him.

 _Better than eating it._

He feels calm following her voice. Jared moves his eyes from the crown of his head on the right side of his body to the earth below his feet - they flicker and jump and he brings them back to the jagged shape - the shape of his body instead of an oval - on his inhale breath, he closes the shape from his feet to the crown of his head.

He senses Ruby moving inside the cage. The light of the candles intensify and move high, a circle of heat surrounding his body - a ring of red light through his closed eyelids.

"Synchronizing our breaths … inhale together…."

His eyes relax. Her chanting is steadily and plainly narrated. He imagines her movement in the room from her words - her voice, her footsteps, the air.

"...into your awareness. As we open the door to the astral sphere, entering it joined to..."

Jared peeks. Ruby draws the linkage on the touchscreen monitor set on the ledge next to the doorway. From this side, the golden double doors are mottled rock slabs gouged out and smoothed by inhumanly strong hands. The walls begin to sweat and sweat beads on his forehead and trickles down his neck. The taste of dirt in the back of his throat grows heavy. He closes his eyes again.

"...at the edge of the earth that holds us, the gravity between us. Think about why we're here..."

The space between his eyebrows tingles. He sees through Ruby's eyes.

The touchscreen blurs with black and white words and numbers, calculations run in ASTRAL to find the synchronization parameters as Ruby continues to chant. Jared lets himself surrender and accept her words as faith. Her words are his ground.

"Open your eyes to witness the light of our synchronization."

He opens his eyes.

A stubby, milky blue channeling crystal appears like magic in Ruby's slim fingers and then in the socket above the monitor.

No sound or movement. Jared blinks. The crystal rod looks like glass now, translucent. A dim, white light sparks and shines in the rod.

 _Smooth._ The synchronization felt like it had taken ten, maybe fifteen minutes tops.

He looks down at the top of Ruby's dark-brown hair. She's looking up at him and holding his hand, waiting patiently.

 _When did that happen?_ Jared thinks idly. A deep sense of calm eases his nerves.

The doors open and Ruby's small, firm hand leads him outside. She stops and looks up at him, gives him a smile, pleased with him … with the successful synchronization. Jared tries to smother a goofy grin.

She won't see him as male with his identity cloak active … no use scaring her, but … she is ... definitely single and available. Not seeing anyone. He can feel it. A vibe of restrained urgency comes off her. She must be worried about the timing of events.

Ruby starts down the corridor. "Have you flown with Angel before?" she asks quickly.

"No," Jared says huskily and clears his throat.

"I'll describe the procedure. It's important—

Jared lets her words tumble into his ears and sink into his mind without conscious thought. He stares at her glossy black hair. He wanted to run his fingers through it, feel the silk on his body. The strands of her long, straight hair sway and flick across her jacket, then curl upwards, against gravity, reaching-

 _Stop it._

"...at the border of Atlantic, I'll check in with you before—

He's punchy and his powers are getting out of hand … nerves and power overuse, except he's calm and just got an energy transfer.

He hates it, all of this. Hates being a super. There's nothing super about his dysfunctional superpowers.

They ride a noisy cage elevator up to the roof. The starkly functional industrial metal looks simultaneously out of place and fitting against the hand-laid stone slabs of the underground labyrinth and the equally functional industrial hallway. They walk into a locker room, the antechamber to the airlock-style exit. The walls are straight and it's not filthy.

He should have registered a winter-ready costume.

Ruby pops open a locker bulging with clothing and rummages through it. She takes out a thick ski vest.

"I love your sweater," Ruby says with genuine appreciation.

It is a nice sweater. It looks like the thin, blue sweaters that Mr. Rogers wore. One more image connoting harmless kindness and defraying the malevolent reputation of minion masters.

"Thanks," Jared says. He lifts the poncho and she helps him shrug on the vest. He pulls the poncho over it, adjusting the bags of hair samples as they ruck up against the jacket.

Out of nowhere, Ruby holds out a reusable glass water bottle in a rubbery neon green sleeve. The plain water on his tongue tastes like sweet, liquid candy. He must be dehydrated.

Jared gulps it down.

A trickle of water dribbles out of the side of his mouth and he wipes at it hastily. Drops of water spatter accidentally on the poncho, but Ruby had her back to him, entering a code into the keypad.

The lock clicks open with an audible thunk. Ruby pushes. The door looks heavy from the slow way it opens... Jared reaches over her head and leans on the door a little. Ruby glances up, gives him a grateful look. Warmth buzzes in him.

A blast of cold air rushes in with the second door, and they step onto the sloped concrete roof. A small delta-wing aircraft - sealed - no visible engines - perches on a two-story girder platform that blends into the dim light of dusk. Massive, incorporeal white wings flow like plumes of liquid smoke around the aircraft and platform.

Jared follows Ruby up the steep, narrow, metal grid stairs to the platform. The fabric of her pants pulled tight against the rounded curve of-

Jared stares down at his feet. The dirt from the earth chamber had embedded itself into the cloth of his shoes and turned the white stripes into a dull, light brown barely distinguishable from the dyed parts of the brown canvas. The thick coat of greenish-grey nonslip marine paint on the stairway is starting to wear away. He wondered what the maintenance schedule is like... nonexistent, if the condition of the rest of the building is anything to go by.

On the deck, Madison's curled in a crouch underneath the left wing of the aircraft, next to rectangular pods that looked a lot like the sinister, over-sized coffins used to contain and transport supervillain criminals.

Jared hopes they don't have to get into those things and suspects that's exactly what's going to happen.

"Gen," Madison scrambles up and sticks out her hand. Her chubby cheeks were red with cold and she's swallowed up by her over-sized jacket. She looked even younger now.

Jared watches as the two women shake hands. They're both brunettes and about the same height. Ruby's hair is dark, glossy, and straight and Madison's is curly and a little wild. Seeing them together ... Madison moves with a gawky, self-aware alertness, her superset tightly under control, no hint of speed in her motions. She looks young and soft and a little tense, natural for her first mission.

Madison looks Ruby in the eyes and glances over at Jared, sizing them up coolly.

It's freezing and the wind cuts through the sleeves on his arms and right through the skirt and pants. He stuffs his hands in the pockets of the vest.

"Please, call me Ruby for the mission," Ruby gives the young superhero a wide, brilliant smile.

"Sure," Madison answers chirpily.

Ruby's hand brushes against her toolbelt. A flimsy piece of plastic unrolls into a blocky printed circuit in her fingers. "Let's exchange identifiers and synchronize."

 _Huh. Never seen this before._

Madison's plastic microchip goes in Ruby's toolbelt.

The gold tattoo on the inside of Madison's wrist glows as she draws the sleeve of her jacket back. She takes a silvery razor blade from Ruby and cuts inside the border of the tattoo, laying down the plastic film; her flesh knits over the circuit as fast as her finger move - too fast for his eyes to see the details of the pattern.

Just like that, Jared feels Madison's presence on the outer edge of his awareness.

Madison's hand dips into a pocket and comes out with a piece of bedsheet he'd cut up and given to her for handkerchiefs. She dabs a drop of blood pooled on the plastic film, then tucks the cloth back in her pocket.

He can imagine her ... in her late twenties or early thirties, walking into a mission with a last minute substitution of supers, backing up a combat team intercepting a rogue super and handling it ... like Ruby.

 _It's me._

He's not ready for her to be ready.

Out of the aircraft's open bay: a big, broad, bald guy who looks like the stereotype of a prison inmate. His wide face is edged with a neatly trimmed salt and pepper beard, Zappa-style. Large cross tattoos stand out on both arms. The man looks nothing like an angel.

The notion of looking at the blurry, liquid wings sprouting from the guy's back makes Jared's thoughts drift away … some variation of identity cloak.

Jared lets his eyes defocus and wander over the aircraft. In his peripheral vision, Angel's incorporeal astral wings are bird-like, with white-grey feathers … he might not be space-capable.

"You ready to go?" Angel asks in a light, pleasant voice.

Ruby gives Angel a look and he nods back at her. Jared can't read Ruby's reaction.

 _Wonder what that means?_

"Any last requests?" Ruby asks.

"Where's Gabe?" Jared asked. And SS? Not that he wants to meet the guy.

Madison looks at Angel, as if she expects him to jump in, then says, "Oh, they got called into a meeting, last minute."

 _Huh._

"Super-screensaver transferred," Ruby cuts in. "He mentioned a past personal conflict and requested a reassignment."

 _Oh. Leaves us short-handed._ Ruby doesn't look or feel concerned, more like she doesn't want to talk about it.

"Gabe has our luggage and supplies," Jared says. The defective wig dangles from his fingertips and longer tendrils of hair brush the metal deck.

"They'll catch up with us later," Ruby says. "If Gabe stays as ground support, Team C will bring your personal items." Ruby pauses. "This is an active incident and may potentially be active when we arrive. I have orders to abort without confirmation from Coordinators Larsen and Royce every hour."

Madison looks nervously at Ruby.

 _That's what makes you realize how dangerous this is?_

"If we're separated or you suspect one of us may be compromised, report information to Command directly through the astral sphere. Use the G-12 path," Ruby says.

 _Separated? I've never done this secret agent shit!_

Jared glares at Madison. If the situation gets out of control they have an out, as long as Madison sticks with it, she's the teleporter. Madison catches his eye and gives him a look.

 _I hope that means she's with me._

Ruby glances at the coffins. "Let's get you loaded and we can take off."

They _are_ going to fly to Vancouver in the prison coffins.

Jared eyes the narrow, dark opening with trepidation, then sees his expression mirrored on Madison's chubby, young face.

"Let me go first," Jared says, taking off his poncho.

The bulk of the coffin's astral warding and insulation raises the opening an awkward two feet above the deck.

Jared grabs the top rim with both hands and held himself precariously balanced. The slippery mass of wig hair and the poncho grind under his fingers and palms as he crabwalks his feet inside. His back bumps over the padding and the vest is in his face. He shoves and pulls at the padding, grabs the harness with his wig hand and holds it out of the way. A sharp lump. The zipper of the vest snags on the padding, he rips it away from the fabric and slides inside. He tosses the wig in the footwell and shoves it down with one leg, then untangles the harness and straps himself in.

He'd noticed the gentle hand touching his sweaty forehead and protecting his elbow from bumping into the metal edges of the coffin. He cranes his neck and looks at Ruby's upside-down face. She isn't smirking or laughing at him. She smiles tentatively and leans into the coffin. The soft curve of her body stretches out over his.

"Let me check your straps, make sure you're secure." Ruby places the water bottle in a cup holder that he hadn't noticed and hands him the poncho, which he'd lost on the way inside.

"Thanks," Jared says, slipping the poncho under the harness.

Ruby gives him another upside-down smile. Jared holds himself limp on the bottom of the coffin. She crawls over him, her hands lightly touch his body as she slips her fingers under each strap, adjusts the padding, and gives the harness straps firm tugs. It's amazing there's space for her, because it had been a tight fit getting in.

He looks at the fabric of the headrest. Perfectly curved hips shift in his side vision as she moves. The back of her hands pressed on his hipbones.

Sweat pools in the hollow of his throat. He hopes she doesn't notice. Jared wraps his identity cloak tighter around himself and stares at the lonely parachute button on a blank instrument panel. Each unit had individual oxygen and pressurization, but no lighting.

 _Which idiot designed these things?_

Ruby finishes her checks and backs out. Her upside-down face gave him the shadow of a final smile … she crouches and her face and raised arm are dark silhouettes against the evening sky. Before she can swing the end closed-

"Hey, if I stay still will you pick me up?" Jared blurts out.

A pause. "Angel and I will secure you in the bay and we'll be en route soon." She slides the top shut with a thud.

Darkness. His awareness of Ruby and Madison dim.

The air turns stale and thin. Jared exhales slowly, making each breath last. The coffin rattles and jolts, as if he's being dragged inside the aircraft and then secured from below.

A lurch and a jump upwards. It isn't anything like an airplane or how he imagined a bird would fly - not that he's really tried to imagine it. Jared wonders how Angel's powering the aircraft. Maybe he's carrying it in his hands? From what Ruby described, they're flying low, without lights or electronics because of Dr. Badass' superpowers, just faith in Angel …. Come to think of it, it's a fitting codename.

He takes out his iPhone; no text from Gabe. Jared turns on the LED flashlight.

One of the clips of hair samples on the underside of his costume top digs into Jared's side; he fumbles with the small bag of hair, hampered by the harness and padding. Finally, he gets the thing out of the way and padded by the folds of plastic. Ruby had been emphatic about the padding and getting the harness buckles and bags of hair out of the way in case of sudden acceleration.

The air is making him spacey … it's hard to string two thoughts together.

Lying there in the dark is a shitty way to travel.

His phone buzzes.

 _Ruby._

He hopes she didn't notice how far out of it he is.

"Ruby," Jared says, forcing his voice to speak clearly. He drops the phone on his chest and lets his arm rest.

He tries to sound alert as Ruby gives him a run-down of the abort procedure. When she asks, and of course she asks, he tries to explain that he's never consciously or willingly used his minion master powers, he's not like that, and he doesn't feel them now. He hopes that's what he says. Words are hard to find.

She cuts him off, says that they're approaching the border of Atlantic and electronics can't be trusted.

Jared lets the phone go dark. The padding and harness are digging into his side again, but he feels too disconnected to adjust the straps. His body doesn't feel like his own. The team might need him to counter the rogue, whoever it is … he needs to wake up and read the mission files, get a better sense of the situation. He needs to wake up ….


End file.
